


Honesty

by kikimi



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, One Shot, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikimi/pseuds/kikimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Debra is pleading Dexter to kill Hannah McKay. Dexter doesn't want to. Argument ensues, spiraling out of control. Alternative approach to the argument taking place at 07e08 “Argentina”. One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honesty

“Please, Deb, do not make me kill Hannah.”

“Why the fuck not, she fits you god-damn code”, she yelled, her voice pitching.

“I do not care that she is a killer”, he blurted out. Clearly not the best way to talk to a cop in her own home.

“But isn't that what you do? Kill killers?” Debra asked, confused.

“No.”

“You mean you kill innocents, too?”

 _Sometimes_ , he thought. “I mean that is not what I do”, he said. “I kill people. Because I _need to_. I could kill anybody. It's not about what they have done, it's all about what they allow me to do.”

“That is insane”, Debra gasped.

"I _know_ that”, he snapped. “Harry taught me to direct this ... _urge_. If it wasn't for Harry …”, he would have committed some random acts of violence, “... things would have turned out differently. I am no hero, Deb.”

“But why not her? Why can't you kill her?”

Because he simply didn't want to. How could he make her understand? Now that she knew of his activity, what made her think she should be the one to decide who to kill?

It was all so frustrating.

“I am fond of her.”

The disappointed look of disgust on Debra's face made him realize instantly that he had chosen the wrong words.

“Fuck you and your fondness! You are fucking here, isn't that more like it?”

This time, he saw the the trap. There was no right answer here. Debra would twist his word to mean anything he did not intend. So he didn't answer at all. Debra's sigh indicated that this too was not the best possible approach, yet at least he didn't made it much worse. It's all about the small comforts.

“You are not seeing clearly here, Dex”, Debra said trying a different approach. “Hannah McKay is murderous, venomous shitpile of trouble. And she needs to be dealt with. I can't take her in but you can take her out. So why don't you do your thing?”

“Not again, Deb, please, do not make me kill again”, he gritted out.

“The fuck, Dex, when did I ever ask you to kill someone!?”

She didn't. Yet she forced his hands. Or was it the Ice Truck Killer?

“You made me kill Brian.”

“Brian? Brian who?” Her eyes went wide as she realized, “You? That was you? The asshole didn't commit fucking suicide? _You_ offed him?”

Debra's face was showing a strange mixture of awe and fear.

As with all his little secrets, once they appeared he could downright see how each and every one of it changed the way she perceived him, broke something inside her. And he did not like it.

What image of him would remain inside dearly disturbed Debra once they would be all out in the open, his darkness completely revealed to her. A scaring thought.

“Yes. I _offed_ him. Because of you– _for_ you.”

Blurred images and twisted sounds of that day invaded his mind. That fateful day when he killed Brian.

Usually, he liked to relive his kills in his memory. They kept him grounded, focused, in control. Yet that particularly one was drastically different. It was betrayal of the worst kind. His weakest moment.

In his mind, he was cowering in that corner again after cutting his brother's throat, watching his life pour out. He put him put down like a mad dog. And it made him _feel_ sick, angry, frustrated. His breathing hitched and he felt his temper slip. How on earth could he have killed the first person to really understand him, who accepted him, his blood brother who wanted to set him free? The reason why was standing right in front of him. A fake sister who could not cope, who was trying to control him with chains of new rules, who didn't even understand why he killed.

“He wanted me to kill you. But I couldn't.”

“Well, duh, it's no wonder you could not. I wouldn't have fit your code”, she rationalized. As if it was the most obvious aspect of the universe. As if she hadn't heard him just a moment ago. So frustrating.

“Damn it, Deb! It. Is. Not. About. The. Code!”, he hissed.

Anger. There it was again. That hard to control anger. He wanted to hit her, put some sense into her—why wouldn't she understand? He took a few heavy breaths, contemplating his next words carefully. He stood up, walking through the room, circling her.

“If there had been anybody else on that table that night, _anybody_ else than you, I would have used the blade. I would have taken them apart limb by limb—with no remorse nor regret. It's not about killing murderers, and it's also not about justice or vengeance.”

He came towards her, facing her, looking her directly in the eyes, poking her with his index finger, as if it was his knife, pointed to her heart and said, in a voice and manner he otherwise only dedicated to his victims on his table, in the voice of the Dark Passenger, “In the end it's all about the joy of the kill. Sticking the knife in, watching the blood flow. Feeling the life drain out of their body, seeing the life fade out of them.”

He applied pressure to his index finger. She jerked.

“Why the fuck are you telling me this?” she shouted while violently pushing his hand away. He again could see the disgust on her face. Did he really expected something different? How else was she supposed to react? In the end, he should be used to it by now, thankful even, that as of now all he had to fear from her were her looks.

And her question was a valid one. Why _did_ he tell her all this? If she had been one of his victims, he would have liked how she squirmed now. Yet she wasn't one, never could be. So all he felt was some sort of dread. Terror even. He did not want Debra to look at him this way. It made him feel … lost.

He should have known. She never will accept him, not like Brian did. She might have accepted the idea of a good-guy-turned-killer by an unjust world. But she never will accept the monster who just played beyond the rules in order to fulfill its own selfish needs. And the more she would learn about him, the more she would turn away.

“One of our established rules, isn't it? You wanted honesty. I try to live up to that.”

He sounded mockingly but he didn't know if he was mocking her, himself, or the both of them. She might want honesty but he very much doubted that she could bear it even the slightest. And he was a fool for trying to comply to her foolish request nonetheless.

At least, he complied to a a degree. He had a way to be dishonest with the truth. Or by downright lying. It was a complete farce. And once upon a time, he was OK with playing that farce. Why couldn't he now?

For his own sake, he should play the Dark Defender card. He should tell her, how he only kills to even the score to correct some metaphysical moral injustice, direct result and excused by the chainsaw-murder of his mother. To fight crimes, get those who cheat the system. What a beautiful lie. Yet he did not want to fake himself around Debra anymore. He was faking himself around her for his entire life.

“Did you know that I admired the Ice Truck Killer and how he celebrated his kills?” he whispered into the room. “He was an artist in how he handled the blood. An artist! And he was my brother. And he accepted me. He was like me. I adored him.”

Debra didn't say a word. She just stared at him like a stranger.

“We were playing, like brothers were supposed to. Each and every one of his kill as the Ice Truck Killer have been about me. He wanted to show me my fake life and he succeeded. He revealed the lies, he saw the real me.”

Again, the look in her eyes. She was in shock, had to be.

“And he wanted to set me free.”

“So why didn't you like, run away with him?”

He smiled a humorless smile. “I guess I would have. But he wanted me to kill you. So I killed him. For you.”

“For me.” She did not sound convinced.

“Yes.”

“And you would have killed anybody else,” she asked testing the water.

“Yes.”

“Even Rita”, she dared.

“Yes!” He didn't even hesitate.

“The fucking fuck, Dexter!?” she cried.

“She was just a cover at that time”, he stated. “That was my reason for starting that … relationship anyway. Do not misunderstand me, Rita grew on me, in a way I never would have imagined and no one was more surprised than me how I grew fond of her. I think I came close to what people call love. She even made me want to stop being a killer for Harrison's sake ... yet back then ...” he would have killed her. In a heartbeat.

It is really strange how people can change. How he had changed.

His mind went to many places. Rita in the bathtub. How lost he felt. How he killed that random stupid guy out of pure anger in that bathroom. Another innocent he killed out of pure rage and sorrow. Eventually, he would have to tell Debra about those murders, too. Of the innocent life he wasted. But how could he?

His code worked for him most of the time, yet it was only a short leash for his Dark Passenger. He knew he could kill beyond Harry's code and be fine with it. Free. Brian knew that as well. Debra was only barely beginning to realize it.

“Even the kids? If Ru-,” she hit her head as if to punish herself, “if the Ice Truck Killer had put _them_ on the table? Are you really, like really really, saying you could have fucking killed them?”

Once upon a time, he would have said _never_ in an instant. How he never could kill kids. How he claimed to have standards. He missed those times, where everything was so crystal-clear, easy, laid out. What beautiful lies.

Back then, he was in peace with Harry's code and with himself, content to feed his Dark Passenger in all his arrogant, self-absorbed righteousness. Yet that was before Brian entered his life. He wasn't so sure now. And he was thankful that he was not put up to that test by Brian. He preferred not to answer this question. So he decided to break the pause by changing the topic.

“Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like, if I killed you. How he and I would have managed. What we would have done. What it would have been like to live without pretending.”

“Do you regret killing him?”

“Yes,” he voice was reduced to merely a whisper.

"But you would kill him again?", Debra asked, her voice trembling.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“As I've told you. It was you or him.”

“What made me so special?”

Again, he paused. He never quite knew himself. He just acted on an impulse. _Not Deb._ It was enough at the time. He never really thought it through.

Why was he so fond of her? Was it because of Harry? Was it guilt of stealing her father away from her? Was it because he thought of her as a sister? If so, then why did he kill his brother? What did she meant to him? Why did he care?

He knew she loved him. And he always thought of it as nice. How he she admired him, how she relied on him for tips and clues in order to overcome her own low self-esteem.

“You saw me for who I wanted to be”, he declared. Not knowing if the answer was sufficient for her or for himself.

Silence. How come he never can quite tell if a silence is awkward or not. He had not the slightest idea how this talk went.

Debra stood up and went for the kitchen to get herself a beer. On the way back, she reconsidered and went for a heavier kind of liquid. She took a few big gulping dips directly from the bottle making a mess.

Alcohol. He never knew why people sought its advise. Yet here he was and watched as Deb was trying to find answers on the bottom of the bottle. Her mind was racing, he could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

“So you won't kill Hannah because she reminds you of your brother,” she stated wiping the remains of the liquid off her face with the back of her hand.

Oh, Hannah. Killing or not killing her was what they were talking about to begin with. He almost forgot. Thinking about it he realized that he hadn't thought about it that way. He mostly saw Hannah as a mixture of Lilah without the insanity and Lumen without the fear of darkness. If he were to be reminded of Brian within Hannah that certainly would be weird.

For the third time, he didn't answer.

“Just tell me, Dexter, what do you have planned next. What will happen between you two?”

“I haven't planned anything.”

Debra laughed, manically. “Of course fucking not. How the hell did you manage to stay undetected so long?”

He could ask her the same question. He was wise enough not to.

She started to shake, tears forming in her eyes. “What will you do? Run away with her?”

There it was again, _Argentina_ , that idea of paradise. The thought was appealing, more or less.

He studied her face, and could see the pain he caused again. He could see her tears starting to run, even though she tried hard to hold them back, mixing with her mascara, drawing black lines on her beautiful face.

That was the less part. Yet why did he care if he hurt Debra or not?

“Will you two go on a road-trip, kill some strangers, fuck on their corpses?”

Now she was downright crying. He hated that. Crying always made him so unconformable, unsure how to behave.

“I won't go on a killing spree,” he stated. It didn't cheer her up.

“How fucking reassuring! I clearly cannot tell the same about that bitch. She killed her husband, goddamnit. She killed Sal, I know she did. So how how the fuck do you know she won't kill you?”

He didn't.

“I trust her enough not to.” Not entirely a lie.

“And what if she decides to kill your family? Harrison, Astor, Cody, me!?”

“I doubt she will.”

More of a lie. The way Hannah handled Sal Price, the author, all by herself, clearly was a problem. She wasn't a team player but neither was he. He had to find a way to make things work with Hannah. He believed he could.

Yet if Deb would continue to press her buttons, she very well might end up in her way. But that's what he was trying to achieve here, putting Debra out of Hannah's way.

“Oh, you doubt it. Well now I feel so much better, asshole. Fuck!” Her stare was invidious. “Really, Dex, after all what you just told me, why shouldn't I downright arrest you?”

He could name no reason. Beside the stupid ones. Like _what would my children think_ and what _would it do to your career if you had a murderous brother for years without noticing it_ _and after noticing it you covered up for him_.

He never could name a reason. In fact, he was amazed that Debra kept him around for so long as she already did. She even wanted to use him to kill. It almost could not be any better. Yet why, of all people Debra could have possibly named for him to kill, had it to be Hannah?

He would have killed anyone else for her Harry's code be damned.

In the end, no excuse should be strong enough for her not to do her duty. All she had to do was doing it. So why didn't she? Because he was her brother, they depended on each other for so long. But was it enough?

“I won't stop you, if you want to.” And he meant it. It would be right if Debra was the one to take him in. It's how it should have been years ago.

“Because you would not want to hurt me, right?”

“Yes.” He chose to ignore her sarcasm.

Debra glared at him. Then she silently went out of the room.

 _Well, this it it_ , Dexter thought. He screwed up for the last time. She would arrest him now for sure. If he ever imagined his downfall, he never would have guessed it was by arguing with his sister. An argument about who he should kill, an argument he lost by refusing to kill someone.

In retrospect, he wished that Debra would have arrested him at the church. She would not have become an accessory to his murder that would end her career and possibly put herself behind bars, too. He never wanted that. He also would never have killed Victor. The Koshka Brotherhood would not have made him their enemy number one. And meeting Hannah would have been an impossibility, too. Not knowing Hannah would be so much better than missing her in prison.

Yet when he was standing in the church all he could think of was rule number one: Do not get caught. How paradox to think that, after all, he already had been caught. But dumb Dexter thought he could fix it. So he tried. He tried his best to persuade her. And it worked for him until now.

He waited for Deb to return, like a lamb waiting for slaughter. And so Deb did holding a gun in her right hand.

“Don't you think that this is a bit over-dramatic?”

“I am not arresting you, dipshit”, she replied.

“What?”

She pointed the gun at his head. He laughed.

“Deb, you don't have to become a killer. I will be on death row anyway.”

“I once shot somebody, Dex, did you forget? I managed just fine.”

“It's not the same, you know that.”

“I know. One is socially accepted, the other one fucking isn't. But really, where is the fucking difference. It's just pulling a shitty trigger. Why did I ever thought of making you kill that bitch. I very much could do it myself.”

“Yes, but you will get caught.”

“Well, so be it then. It's not like you want to help me. So what options do I have?”

“I want to help you, Deb, but not by killing Hannah.”

She giggled. “Well, let's see how honest you were about me.”

She lowered her gun.

“It's her or me, Dex”, she declared, staring at him. Daring him.

“I don't understand.”

She smiled, the sort of smile people have when they think only they themselves get the joke, and raised her gun and pointed it directly at her own head. Then the smile disappeared, leaving only a blank face.

“What are you doing”, he shouted, panicked.

“What does it fucking look like I am doing, moron, I am about to put a bullet through my brain so you can have your happily ever after with Hannah fucking McKay.”

“No!”

“Unless you agree to kill her.”

Disturbingly devastated Debra. Does she seriously believe this is the way to get his cooperation?

“Debra, you are not thinking clearly.”

“Am I not? I am only accepting the inevitable. I won't let her case rest, Dex. And she most likely will find to kill me in the process, too, despite your _doubts_. So excuse the fuck out of me, but I rather die here right now.”

“I don't want you to die.” He meant it.

“Then kill her. Say you will kill her!”

He didn't want Hannah to die either.

“Deb ...”

“I will count to ten, then I pull this fucking trigger. Make up your fucking mind.—One!”

“This is ...” what? Blackmail? Immoral? Stupid?

“Two.”

Insane. She lost it. Knowing his secret was too much for her. Harry could not deal with the reality of his darkness and Debra seemed to have followed.

“Three.”

How could she honestly think that this approach would get her her way? It was shortsighted, desperate, downright foolish.

“Four.”

If she pressed the trigger, she would only have herself to blame. It would not be his fault. It's not the same as with Brian. Brian forced him. Hannah didn't. Deb would be to blame.

“Five.”

Fine, do it then. What should he care?

“Six.”

“Deb …”

“Seven.”

“Please.”

“Eight.”

She wouldn't do it.

“Nine.”

Their eyes met. She wouldn't.

The gunshot echoed loudly throughout the room.

Dexter was lying on top of Debra, having yanked her across the room. He had jumped for the arm holding the gun and pulled it over her head directing the bullet to cause havoc on her inventory.

They both lost balance and tumbled to the ground together. With his left hand he grabbed her right arm, smashing it on the ground multiple times so she would let loose of the gun. His right hand found its way around her throat, choking her. He was close to her face, staring at her, beyond angry. A torrent of rage went through him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind!” he shouted tightening his grip.

Debra tried to answer but all she could muster were gargled sounds. She wiggled beneath him but was unable to break free. She was about to pass out.

Killing her now would have been oh so _easy_. Only problem was, he could not let her die. Neither when Brian wanted to set him free, nor when she just was about to shoot herself, nor now. He can kill anyone. Anyone but Debra. What does this tell about himself?

And so he released his grip, angry at her, angry at himself.

Debra gaspingly inhaled air as if it was her salvation. They laid on the ground, staring at each other.

“This better means that we have a fucking agreement, Dex”, she said with a rough-edged, desperate, demanding voice. “Or I swear I shoot you the next time when I get the gun.”

Did he agree to anything? Was such request even binding? Did it even matter? He saved her, that should have been enough. He should go. Meet Hannah. Go for Argentina.

“Yes, Deb, I'll help you. I will kill Hannah McKay,” he whispered, his eyes closed, giving up to her yet again. She always wins.

He remembered what Brian once said. _She is someone I could imagine spending my life with, you know?_ A lie, as it turned out. And the fact that he disagreed which in retrospect made him a liar, too. Debra always had been a constant in his life, a constant he was unable and unwilling to replace.

When he opened his eyes he could see her smile. A free, unburdened smile. She cupped his cheek with her left hand. She slowly put her head up, touching his nose with hers, rubbing it. It was weird.

Space. He needed space. He stood up.

“We should call it a day”, he said unsure of how to proceed. Were things _norma_ _l_ between them again? Were they ever?

Debra didn't answer. She was still just lying there.

“Everything OK?” he asked. And he only received a giggle as a reply.

He gently grabbed her arm, and tried to put her on her feet again and she let him.

“Let's get you to your bed.”

Again, no answer. But she let him direct her to the bedroom. He placed her carefully onto the bed. All Debra managed was to get out off her shoes. Otherwise she seemed too exhaustive to care to change her clothes and he would not undress his sister.

So he was about leave.

“No”, she breathed in protest.

“What is it, Deb?”

“Could you …”, she began, her insecurity obvious to him, “... stay?”

Something in his mind said he shouldn't. But he shouldn't have agreed to kill Hannah either. Yet it was Deb. And what Deb wants she gets. So he would stay.

He went to lay down next to Deb. And Deb, all on her own, cuddled herself against his side. How weird.

“Could you please hold me?” Even weirder.

He opened his arm for her to sneak closer, resting her head on his chest, clenching her leg around his, as if trying to hold as much of him as possible. And he hold her back. And they just lay there. How very strange.

How did this happen? How did they get here. And what had to happen from here on now?


End file.
